


An Arachnid, Actually

by FrancescaFiona



Series: What The Series Never Showed You [6]
Category: True Blood (TV)
Genre: Arachnophobia, Eric wants answers, Gen, Karma's a bitch, Nora's Makingday, Revenge, The Great Revelation, the Authority - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaFiona/pseuds/FrancescaFiona
Summary: Eric has never forgiven Sylvie’s murder, though it is true that revenge is a dish best served cold.This is the sweet tale of retribution with a little help from a furry friend of Godric’s…(because everybody is afraid of something)…And the reason why Eric and his maker are never allowed to visit Nora at the Authority ever, ever again.Like, ever.





	An Arachnid, Actually

It was a muggy summer’s night in New Orleans and the sun had just set, though the darkness didn’t deter the armies of mosquitos who in the rural areas outside the city were thirsty for human blood.

 

Just like the vampires.

 

Or just like the vampires would have been had they not been good law-abiding, tax-paying citizens, right?

 

Also on this muggy summer’s night, a score was due to be settled.

 

 _And it’s a lovely night for it too,_ thought the driver of a black car that pulled up in front of the guard station outside the gates of the Vampire Authority.

 

The driver rolled his window down to make the floppy blonde hair, distinctive of Eric Northman, visible.

 

“Why good evening,” he said softly to the guard.

 

“You part of the film crew?” the guard asked, rather rudely really.

 

“No,” Eric replied. “We are here to see Chancellor Gainsborough. We are Sheriffs Godric and Eric Northman. The Chancellor will be expecting us.”

 

The guard considered for a moment, then waved them through, in to the rather dingy warehouse that disguised the Vampiric seat of Government and all the utter, _utter_ assholes it was comprised of.

 

Eric parked up.

 

Eric looked to his maker, Godric, in the seat beside him, looking typically melancholy and clutching the cardboard box containing Nora’s present.

 

“Godric,” Eric said quietly.

 

Godric turned to lay his slightly reptilian gaze upon his creation.

 

“It’s going to work.”

 

“I hope so, my child,” the older vampire replied. “It _is_ what she wanted for her Makingday.”

 

Eric smiled but quickly schooled his expression into his typical inscrutable one.

 

“She and many others,” he said. “Shall we?”

 

They were led into the main meeting room where the Authority members were gathered.

 

Nora gave them a warm smile.

 

“Nora!” grinned Eric as her strode forward to crush her in a hug and give her a passionate kiss on the lips that was slightly too lingering.

 

“Happy Makingday! We brought you a gift,” Eric said. “It’s not wrapped though, I’m afraid.”

 

The ghost of triumph flitted almost imperceptibly across Nora’s face.

 

“That’s quite alright…if it’s what I think it is…?”

 

“Yes, I think it is.”

 

The box gave a reassuring quiver, but the second part of the present was missing.

 

“Where’s Flanagan?” Eric asked.

 

 _“La Prima Donna_ is having her makeup done,” Roslyn Harris, another Chancellor, drawled with a magnificent eye-roll before leaning closer.

 

“They’re tryin’ to make her look less dead!” she stage-whispered in mock conspiracy. 

 

“It’s an important night,” Roman, the Guardian and leader of the Authority, added.

 

“That it is,” echoed a voice from the doorway, sounding as smug as a vampire could in a pink suit.

 

“What _are_ you wearing?” Eric asked in mock wonder, as beside him Godric discreetly opened the cardboard box.

 

“I want the human population to feel as comfortable as possible,” Nan told him, smile still in place. “It’s important for the Great Revelation to go smoothly.”

 

Eric laughed.

 

“The Great Revelation won’t go smoothly, no matter what,” he countered, sounding more bitter. “The other Sheriffs and I are preparing for chaos - to fight for our lives.”

 

Flanagan shot him a sideways look.

 

“Don’t try too hard,” she said carelessly, flicking idly through a stack of documents.

 

“Nan,” Roman said fondly. “Are you all ready?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Good,” he replied. “Then we’ll watch the rehearsal today, and feedback for the live broadcast tomorrow, when the humans finally learn the truth.”

 

“And everything goes to complete shit,” Eric murmured, so softly nobody but Godric heard him.

 

Nan swept out of the room, and reappeared a moment later on a screen mounted on the wall.

 

“Okay Ms Flanagan,” one of the producers on-set called. “When you’re ready, we’ll start recording.”

 

“Good evening America,” she began measuredly. “My name is Nan Flanagan and…”

 

Nan trailed off, a frown appearing on her face.

 

“Er…Ms Flanagan…” asked the cameraman bravely. “Is…everything alright?”

 

“Yes, of course,” she answered smoothly. “I just thought I saw…”

 

Her eyes narrowed.

 

“Never mind,” she finished impatiently, shaking her head as if to clear it.

 

“Not like Chancellor Flanagan to be nervous,” muttered Salome from among the other gathered Chancellors. “Though she does look a little…”

 

Then Nan was on her feet, behind the chair in a instant.

 

“Holy shit!” she gasped as she stumbled backwards.

 

“Er…Ms Flanagan?”

 

“Look! Look! There!” she cried, eyes wide with terror. “It’s fucking right behind…Agh!”

 

She gave a little screen and started backing away further until she was pressed against the backdrop.

 

“Nan what’s the matter?” asked the producer.

 

The threat came closer.

 

“Fuck! Shit, shit, shit!”

 

“Ms Flanagan?”

 

The assistants were rushing forward to assist their boss, at loss to know what could possibly frighten her.

 

“It has _fangs!”_ Nan screeched.

 

A pink suede shoe sailed across the backdrop.

 

“The fuck is she doing?” asked Roslyn loudly.

 

“DidIgetit?DidIgetit?” Nan gasped to her production team. “Did I-? Oh _Jesus!”_

 

There was a squeal, nobody could tell quite who from, as Syn the tarantula made her survival known.

 

“Fucking _kill it!_ ” screamed Nan desperately, perched one-shoed on top of her chair. “Hey! You and you-”

 

She jabbed a finger at two of her minions.

 

“Come here! Get rid of it!”

 

Nan tucked her hair behind her ears nervously.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck…” she muttered.

 

“O…kay Nan, I think it’s gone now,” said the producer. “Perhaps we could continue the broadcast and-”

 

“How can you say that?” she cried. “It’s _in_ here!”

 

Her eyes darted around wildly. 

 

“Ms Flanagan, I’m sure we could manage to-”

 

“There!” choked Nan. “There it is.”

 

She took off her remaining shoe with a look of intense focus.

 

_You only have one shot left, Nan._

 

She threw the shoe so hard it dented the stone floor.

 

“Did I get it?” she garbled.

 

A member of the crew got up to check.

 

“Yep, good and dead Ms Flanagan,” he reported. “Great job. Now…if we could get on with the filming?”

 

“Sure,” Nan said, smoothing herself back into perfection.

 

“Okay…rolling in three…two…”

 

He clapped his hands.

 

“My name is Nan Flanagan,” the vampire began again. “And today I am on your screens to share something with you. Something that had always been true but not known to the public until…recently when…”

 

Nan shrieked, clawing at her own skirt.

 

“Ewwwww it’s _on me!”_ she screamed, patting herself. 

 

The production team converged.

 

“You _fucking_ liar!” she roared at the producer. “You said it was _dead!_ You are fucking _fired!”_

 

“Nan, Nan just hold still, we’ll get it off you.”

 

Nan was whimpering, clawing at her neck, back and head.

 

“Get it the _fuck off me!”_

 

“Nan, be still, we can get it.”

 

Nan squeezed her eyes tight as the team tried to extract the giant spider, which had taken an instant liking to silk clothing upon it’s newfound freedom. She gasped in horror as the spider made it’s merry way over her shoulder and down under her suit jacket.

 

An assistant thought he’d help her. 

 

“Get it…HEY!” Nan screamed, slapping the man so hard his jaw broke. “GET YOUR FUCKING FILTHY HAND OUT OF THERE!… I’ll get it my fucking self!”

 

Emboldened, Nan fished the spider out from where it had got comfy against her chest and crushed it in her fist.

 

The recording cut off as a huge spider carcass sailed towards the camera.

 

In the viewing room there was silence.

 

Roman put his head in his hands.

 

“It has fangs…” he mouthed numbly at the screen in despair, watching his mainstreaming movement burn around him. “Oh Jesus.”

 

Ros couldn’t contain her sniggers and neither could Nora, who had bloody tears running down her face, having most certainly liked her present. Eric tried desperately to hide his aching laughter as he heard the angry stomping footprints coming down the corridor.

 

“I don’t think she’s very happily,” Godric said in his diagnostically dreamy way.

 

 _“Northman!”_ hollered the accompanying voice, furious. “I will have your _fucking_ fangs for this!”

 

“How do you know it was mine?” Eric asked as Nan appeared, with a face of perfect innocence.

 

“Because it crawled _straight_ down my fucking bra!”

 

Nan snapped her fingers and one of her guards obediently laid the offending creature’s poor broken body on the table for everyone to see.

 

Flanagan huffed appreciatively. Crisis averted.

 

“That wasn’t nice, Nan,” Eric said dangerously.

 

“Well, I couldn’t think what else that fucking insect deserved!” Nan spluttered, anger returning at the sound of Eric's voice.

 

She was breathing heavily, almost beside herself with rage...the best time for Godric’s input.

 

“An arachnid, actually,” he said calmly.

 

“What?” breathed Nan.

 

Godric met her eyes blandly, in the a way that a well-meaning gecko might if you asked it a direct question.

 

“A tarantula is classified as an arachnid, not an insect,” he explained helpfully. “It has eight legs.”

 

Nan looked like she was about to explode.

 

“You think…I give….a _fuck_ …what that fucking little monster called itself?”

 

“Not a tad hypocritical?” Eric asked acidly. “Given your _extremely_ newfound passion for tolerance?”

 

“And _you,”_ Nan hissed, rounding again on Eric. “This was all _your_ idea, I can tell.”

 

“Just like sending the Yakonomo to kill Sylvie, was yours,” the Viking countered without missing a beat.

 

There was silence in the room as the mood changed _very_ rapidly.

 

“I was following orders,” Nan said crisply, throwing her head towards Roman Zimojic, though aware she was swimming dangerous waters. “Our Guardian’s orders. To enforce the law.”

 

“They killed her in cold blood!” Eric shouted.

 

“After _I warned_ you.”

 

Eric swept to his feet in an instant.

 

“And her life means nothing?” he snarled, furious.

 

“Apparently it does mean something, judging by this rather clumsy attempt at humiliation,” Nan sneered. “But remember, _my_ life means a lot more.”

 

Right about then, Eric decided it was True Death time for Ms Flanagan, however, in his ardour, he had forgotten the eight other Authority vampires in the room who had moved to stand with their fellow Chancellor.

 

“Eric!” came Godric’s voice as he laid a hand on his creation’s heaving chest to steady him. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

 

Nan grinned.

 

“That’s right,” she called as her guards escorted Godric and Eric from the room, not all that respectfully. “Listen to Peter Pan and run back to your shit-hole bar.”

 

She gave the pair a jaunty wave as they vanished around the corner.

 

“And say hello to your hooker progeny for me.”

 

With those words ringing in their ears, Godric and the livid Eric were deposited outside and told, succinctly, to clear off and never come back. 

 

But all was not lost.

 

“I’m sorry about Syn,” Eric said finally as the drove out of the gates.

 

“She is with the Gods now,” Godric replied solemnly.

 

Unable to contain himself much longer Eric turned to his maker with a smile creeping onto his face.

 

“And what about the second one?”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun fact: 'Syn' is the Norse Goddess of 'the accused at trial' - I thought it was a fitting name for the tarantula ;)


End file.
